Forgotten Boy
by hiddenindians
Summary: Wex and Pod fight for Stannis in the battle for Winterfell.
1. Chapter 1

I am the world's forgotten boy  
The one who searches and destroys

-Search and Destroy, The Stooges

* * *

He wielded a dirk in either hand, punching the steel into the unprotected necks and eyes of heavily armored men. Wex wore nothing but chainmail over his doublet, a half helm, and boiled leather greaves. Though not as protective, It was easier to move quickly in light armor than it was in the steel that others wore. Steel armor had several weak points, and though it varied for suite to suite, it was typically the joints. He'd put a dirk through three men's necks and sliced the tendon behind the knees of five men. An elephantine man not five paces away stood with his back to him, pounding way at some mountain tribesman. He seized the opening, running over the now flatly packed and blood stained snow with as much ease as a fish through water.  
He missed. Wex watched in horror as the Liddle fell lifeless to the ground, helm smashed in as flesh, blood, brain and bone spread around his head like a crown of death.  
He felt more than saw the mace come down hard on his shoulder, instantly shattering the bone on contact and driving the metal of his chain mail into his skin. He felt tears well up in his eyes.  
The force of the blow alone was enough to knock him to his knees, and Wex found himself on his ass, helm lost somewhere in the maelstrom of death, scrambling back from the oversized Frey. He felt his hand drag through the viscera of a gutted Northerner, blood soaking through his leather gloves.  
It was one of the few times he was grateful he had no voice. _I will not die screaming._ Dirks gone and left arm destroyed, he sneered up at the man, waiting for the mace to crush his skull. _I will die with no sword in my hand._ The man let out a howl as he raised the mace.  
He forced himself to keep his eyes open, wanting to look death in the face when it took him. But he saw no drowned God. No Stranger. No fire God. Instead he saw steel in the man's neck. A boy no older than fifteen clad in mismatched armor stood over him, longsword lodged deep in the man's half decapitated neck. _Pod_.


	2. Chapter 2

He forced himself to look at him as he spoke. He'd never had many friends, and those he counted as such wouldn't have counted him. He wasn't sure if Wex was his friend. They were nearly the same age, yes, but Wex seemed almost like an old man sometimes. He had the eyes of someone who had seen much more than he should have in his lifetime, and he found it difficult to meet those eyes.

_Talk to him. He is in pain, help him forget._ "Do…do you think it's true? About the dragons, I mean." Wex looked at him, seemingly unaware of his presence until now. He pursed his lips in a frown, thought for a moment, then scoffed, a dubious look apathy plastered across his sharp features.

"You don't?" Wex shook his head, "Magic? Omens?" The mute let out a raspy sound that Pod took for laughter. He felt a sheepish grin begin to play on his own lips. "Destiny? Gods?" The ironborn bastard raised his eyebrows in skepticism, disappearing into the dark hair the lay across his forehead.

Podrick sighed, pulling his knees to his chest. "You don't believe in much, do you?"

Wex sat up, and Podrick found himself staring at the mute. "Is it terribly sad? Being so alone, I mean."

The older boy looked at him, eyes looking as mournful as they looked old.


	3. Chapter 3

_I will die here._

The admission was more a comfort than a source of distress. He looked over at Podrick._ He'll die too, and it will be my fault._

"I…I think I figured it out. Why you left, I mean." He paused, and Wex stared at him blankly, letting eyes drop back to the ground almost instantly. "They wanted to cut it off, didn't they?" The ironborn made no sign of admission or denial, and Podrick continued, "Your arm, I mean. And we're going to White Harbor. Because they'll help you. They know you." Wex could hear the grin in his words, and licked his lips in half annoyance. _He didn't have to follow me. Shouldn't have. _He rubbed the heels of his palms into his eyes._ It will be my fault when he dies_. Wex felt the shorter squire shift beside him and lean onto his good shoulder. "Don't give up. Not just yet."


	4. Chapter 4

He held the rotten, worm ridden apple out for the creature as he stroked the side of its neck. We are deserters. He must have known it for a while. One can't flee from war and not be one. But..they hadn't been fleeing from battle. He could still fight. Would still fight. But he wouldn't watch his friend ride into the night alone, for Podrick had decided that Wex was indeed his friend. The horse's lips found his face and began begging, whiskers gently scratching him while the aroma of the apple and hay was puffed into his nose. He laughed and stroked the animal's jaw, grinning lazily into his eyes. _I do not regret coming here. I do not regret deserting. _He glanced out the stable door and saw Wex silhouetted against the torch-lit banners that decked the walls of White Harbor's castle. The older boy stepped inside, and Podrick could see a scowl of pain across his lips, and that he wore only a thin tunic and a cloak, exposing the wound to the numbing cold. He remembered putting steel through the man's neck who'd done the thing. Remembered placing his own helm on Wex's head, and shoving him into a pool of blood so that the others would think him dead. He remembered Wex throwing a knife through the eye of a man who'd mocked Podrick for stuttering. He looked up and met his friend's eyes.


End file.
